


New York Heat

by in_motu_proprio



Series: MCU Rewatch 2019 [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dreaming, Imagination, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 11:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20114593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_motu_proprio/pseuds/in_motu_proprio
Summary: It's a scorcher and Peter can't sleep.  He wanders up to the roof for a little privacy with his right hand while imagining a certain futurist is present and accounted for.For Spider-Man: Homecoming





	New York Heat

Peter woke up for the each night in a row with the same problem and the same dilemma. He told himself it would be different tonight, then it wouldn’t end the same way and I had the past seven nights. Peter went to the roof needing some air just like he had every other night for the past seven. Cresting the last of the stairs, he opened the door to the roof where he’d found his solace recently. Peter quietly made his way to the corner where the shadows fell just right and you could disappear from view. He picked that corner because in his heart of hearts he already knew what was going to happen. 

As he sat back in the shadows, back pressed to the brick corner, Peter ran his hand down his thigh, telling himself that it didn’t have to mean anything, his shorts were just riding up. He was warm and everything felt tight, like a tomato bursting its skin with juice the moment you sliced into it. Only Peter felt like a neglected tomato, one who was left to burst on the vine, ignored and uncared for. His hands, who seemed to have minds of their own, moved over his stomach, pulling on his shirt. He was warm. 

Deciding that he was not going to solve this tonight, Peter allowed himself to appreciate the sensation of his own hands on his forearms, his chest. Peter’s hands traveled over his now bared stomach, shirt rucked up until he pulled it behind his head in a sort of half on, half off position that’d be easy to cover up from if someone happened to walk upstairs tonight. No one had any other night Peter had come upstairs for this but Peter tried to err on the side of caution. Deciding that tonight he’d let himself indulge, he decided to use his active imagination to imagine himself a partner up there on that very warm rooftop. 

He tried to fight his initial instinct and pick someone else, but it all came back to him. Every time Peter had touched himself since he met Mr. Stark, he’d thought about the man. Considering how often Peter indulged, that added up to a lot of time thinking about one person. Peter’s hands ran down his chest, bumping over his hard nipples, thoughts of Mr. Stark sparking across his skin. He liked Mr. Stark’s hands a lot and they featured heavily in most of Peter’s fantasies. Like now, all Peter could imagine was that his fingertips were Mr. Stark’s. He’d touch his chest knowing it to be his own hand but in the world of closed eyes and secret desires, Tony Stark’s hand was the one pinching his nipple. 

Peter pulled himself from his shorts quickly thereafter, knowing he had to finish soon just in case. He didn’t think anyone was going to come walking onto the roof at 2 am, but then again he had so best to be careful. The cool summer night air stirred against his heated skin, reminding Peter how lovely it felt to be naked in the outdoors. He was progressively getting worried about his new habit but hoped it would resolve itself with too much thought or work put into it. Peter had a lot of weird stuff, he didn’t need any more. Besides, what happened when he finally _did_ see Mr. Stark again? Then he’d be thinking about this and the fact that Peter could imagine the exact shade of brown of Mr. Stark’s eyes and how his pupils flared when he got excited about something. 

Peter liked to imagine that Mr. Stark came to him half dressed most of the time, shirtless and sexy. Most of the time he came in jeans, something Peter had seen the man in a few times in interviews and speeches. Today, though, he was in a pair of black slacks that made his backside look like something Peter wanted to take a bite out of. Peter’s hand moved to his cock while he thought about Mr. Stark’s backside, loving the thought of the man standing and turning around so Peter could stare a bit. 

Peter’s mind snapped back to touching when his hand came to his balls, adjusting things but making him think of Mr. Stark’s well-manicured hand doing the same thing. He kept his own unkempt hand there, letting his fingers be Mr. Stark’s as he explored. “Jeez,” Peter breathed when his fingertips brushed his hole then darted right back. He thought about that a lot too, what that would feel like or how well he’d handle it. Peter wasn’t sure he was ready for that, so he kept his fingers away and refocused on his cock. 

“Hmmmmmm,” Peter moaned softly when the sensations became almost too much. The hand on his prick was firmly Mr. Stark’s in his head. For a moment he imagined pursed lips pressing down his length, but again went back to hands because it was the easiest fantasy to maintain. Everything felt wonderful, like he was flying on the very edge until he spilled on the still-warm tarpaper and his stomach. He savored the end, stroking himself through his orgasm to the other side where things were too sensitive and every inch of his skin felt like there was a small fire underneath it. Peter let out a slow, deep breath and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. 

Here, in the aftermath, Mr. Stark would usually come to him again, only this time Peter usually imagined kisses or a light brush if his hair out of Peter’s eyes. Mr. Stark, in Peter’s mind, was a kind lover afterward. He would imagine him later, wrapped around Peter from behind as they slept in Peter’s tight bunk bed. Peter knew it could never happen, but for the sake of his fantasy would dismiss that from time to time. Sometimes he would even imagine a soft kiss to the back of the head and a tender ‘good night, Peter.’ before they settled in to sleep. Lately he can’t sleep without his Mr. Stark pillow pressed to his back. 

Tonight was no different.


End file.
